 |
| photo |
Eventide at Bethel: Chapter 7
By John MacDuff
"And will You hear the fevered heart
To You in silence cry?
As the inconstant wild fires dart
Out of the restless eye.
"You will, for many a languid prayer
Has reached You from the wild
Since the lone mother, wandering there,
Cast down her fainting child.
"You will be there and not forsake,
To turn the bitter pool
Into a bright and breezy lake,
The throbbing brow to cool!
"Until, left awhile with You alone,
The willful heart be sincerely to own
That He, by whom our bright hours shone,
Our darkness best may rule."--Christian Year.
"The wilderness and the solitary place."--Isaiah 35:1.
"Jacob left Beersheba and set out for Haran. When he reached a certain place, he stopped for the night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones there, he put it under his head and lay down to sleep." Genesis 28:10-11
The fugitive, having selected his resting-place for the night, would again unbind his belt and open the bag containing the few provisions with which doubtless he had been supplied on his hasty departure. After concluding his simple meal, he betakes himself to his stony pillow.
In the preceding chapter, we have taken the 'night' and the 'sunset' as figuratively descriptive of a peculiar class of sorrows; such as the darkness of personal and family bereavement, or the yet denser gloom of intellectual and spiritual doubt. May we not make the title of the present chapter suggestive of a different phase of trial what may be brought under the category of the hardships of existence--the fight with adverse circumstances--the often hopeless struggle with secular things. This, with many, (though feebly realized by those in affluence and abundance), is indeed a 'pillow of stone.' Hapless seems the destiny of such sufferers!
The sun sets placidly on the hamlets in the valley--curling smoke, and gleaming lights telling of peace and serenity, while they are out with Jacob in the bleak uplands, with scanty coverlet and downless couch. Can they fail to contrast that happy fire-glow and the music of child-voices, with the cold of the rock and the sigh and sob of the night wind; perhaps the memory of some Beersheba tent, with similar loving hands and cheerful faces in the far away of life, only adding a fresh pang of bitterness to the experiences of the present hour? We have known not a few of such cases, when the cruel load, pressing like the chill of an avalanche on the soul, seems as if it were greater than could be borne, and the cry of wild despair rises unsuccoured. Why such a fate as this? Why this toiling misery? Why the rod instead of the smile? Why the pitiless rain streaming on the desert rocks, instead of the sunshine falling on the sheltering roof? Why, while OTHERS can warble of
"Lilies white,
A painted skiff with a singing crew,
Sky reflections soft and bright,
Tremulous crimson, gold and blue."
Or others, of
"A shining reach,
A crystal couch for the moonbeam's rest,
Starry ripples along the beach,
Sunset songs from the breezy west."
